


The Blood Won't Come Off

by Lovefushsia



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: A re-working involving Derek, Complete, Confessions, Derek Comes Back, Derek is not mad. Honest., Derek likes to use Stiles' window, Episode: s05e05 A Novel Approach, Helpful Derek Hale, Hospitals, Hurt Stiles, I love how the Jeep has a character tag, Kissing, M/M, POV Stiles, Stiles Has Panic Attacks, Stiles Needs a Hug, Stiles wakes up a lot, Talking, Tiny bit of Angst, mention of car accident, nothing too bad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-16
Updated: 2018-04-18
Packaged: 2019-04-23 16:45:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 12,825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14336757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lovefushsia/pseuds/Lovefushsia
Summary: “I’ve slept already. Just close your eyes. I’ll be here.”“You’re gonna watch me sleep?” Stiles muttered, already feeling like he might be able to close his eyes for a while. “I’ve missed the creeping, Derek.” He didn’t hear any response to that and he suddenly felt incredibly sleepy as his eyes closed.——A little angsty with Stiles trying to work through the horrible events in the library - but with Derek to talk to because that would have been GOOD.





	1. Chapter 1

“Derek.” Stiles’ voice wavered as he clutched the phone to his ear, pressing it to his face to hold it steady while he waited.

“Stiles?”

“Yeah,” he cleared his throat, stood up to pace around in his room. “Yeah, how’s it going?”

He knew how off, how boarderline panicked he sounded, but he was struggling for the right words and there was no surprise when Derek responded with, “What’s happened? You didn’t call to see how I am.”

“No, uh… no. But I guess, well, it’s been a while, right? No harm asking how you are. You must be good though, all wolfy an’ all? Does it get, like, really hot though, running with all that fur?”

“Stiles.”

“Right, yeah, I guess you can just shift back if it gets too much. Does it feel different though, shifting to the wolf, and to your bumpy face?”

“Stiles.” Derek’s voice was still calm because it always was, but the tone of complete frustration got through Stiles’ rambling and he caught his breath, thought clearly for a second and started off again.

“I killed someone.” His voice was back to a shaky, barely-there, hoarse whisper, but Derek heard him. 

“What? Who?”

“Some kid, after me and my Dad, I- it doesn’t matter who… he’s dead. And his body was taken and there was blood and I… I’m not dealing too well. I don’t know-”

Derek cut him off again, this time with a softer utterance of his name. “Where are you?”

“At home,” Stiles said, still pacing. He stopped beside his board, where he’d messily scrawled and part erased Donovan’s name. By his ear he realised Derek was asking him something else. 

“... your Dad?”

“He’s not here.”

“Does he know what happened?” Derek said, frustration clear as if he was repeating himself.

“No, no, I can’t tell him, or anyone… I-” He didn’t really know why, but he was talking to the only person he could go to with this. “They’re not-” he sighed, voicing it for the first time. “They’re not listening. They’ve all got stuff going on. My Dad, he… he’s dating.” Why had he even said that?

Derek was quiet for a while and Stiles wouldn’t have been surprised in all his incoherence so far, not that that was anything unusual, but Stiles knew he wasn’t making much sense - Derek would be well within his rights to hang up on him. But then his voice was there in his ear again, soft and sure. “Tell me what happened. From the start.”

Stiles focused on that thought, on the fact of being able to tell someone, someone non-judgy - on Derek. He didn’t interrupt, just listened as Stiles told him everything. At the end he was staring at his free hand, it was shaking and God, was there still blood on there?

Derek hummed. “You didn’t kill him,” he said finally. “It was self-defence. You know that, right?”

Stiles nodded stupidly, realised Derek couldn’t see him and managed a, “Yeah. But…” He rubbed at his face, over his hair, thoroughly mussing it in his reflection on the screen. He barely recognised himself, could barely look himself in the eye. “It doesn’t matter. He died because of me. I killed him.” He ran a finger over the kid’s name, over the reflection of his own haunted eyes. 

In his ear Derek was saying his name again, trying to get him to talk, or maybe to listen. Stiles gave the board a forceful shove and finally sat down on the edge of his bed. “I gotta go,” he said quietly into the phone. “Thanks for listening, I appreciate it.”

“Stiles.”

“I have to go… wash my hands.” He ended the call before Derek could say anything more and tossed his phone down on the desk as he went to the bathroom to scrub his hands again.

***

Stiles opened his eyes to darkness, certain he’d heard something. He hadn’t been asleep anyway, had barely just closed his eyes, but at least it had been a moment of almost peace. As his eyes adjusted he made out a dark figure at the end of his bed, head down, just sitting. A few years back he’d have jumped away, screaming. Now he croaked out a sleepy, “Hey,” and Creepy Figure looked right at him, blue eyes shining through the darkness. “Derek?” He raised up on an elbow as Derek’s features grew clearer. “What are you- where’d you come from?”

“Around. You thought I’d leave it at that after your call?”

Stiles flopped back against the pillows. “Well, yeah,” he admitted. His friends were so distanced right now, he didn’t expect anything from anyone, especially Derek Hale, of all people.

“You don’t operate alone, Stiles. What’s going on with you?”

“This is my problem. I don’t want them to suffer alongside me.”

“But you called me.”

Stiles couldn’t see him well enough to know what Derek felt about that. “I’m sorry. I was tired, thought I needed to talk it out. I’m ok now.”

“You look like you haven’t slept in a week. You smell like blood. And something else.”

Stiles huffed out a huge breath, pushed himself up and off the bed and went straight to the window, shoving it open and putting a hand on his hip. “It’s anxiety, as I keep having to tell  _ every _ -freaking-one  _ all _ of the time - and you’ll find some fresh, anxiety-free air right outside.” He gestured with his head and Derek ignored him completely, getting up and taking off his jacket, throwing it over the chair, flipping on his desk lamp and wandering over to look at Stiles’ investigation board. Stiles huffed again and went back to his bed, throwing himself under the covers and pulling them over his head. 

“What is all this?” Stiles heard from inside his cocoon. 

“Urghh,” he groaned.

“You know, your father is the Sheriff. This is his work, Stiles.” Suddenly Derek’s voice was right next to his ear and Stiles had to stop himself jumping in surprise. Derek had been away for so long Stiles had almost forgotten how creepy he could be. He flipped the cover off his head and Derek drew back just a little, sitting back on his haunches by the bed. “If you let him take care of all this, maybe you’d be less anxious,” he said quietly.

“No,” Stiles countered, “then I’d be doubly worried about my Dad - and I’m worried enough about him on a daily basis as it is. I told you this kid was after the both of us.”

Derek sighed and didn’t move anywhere, just sat there staring at Stiles as he refused to budge. 

“Will you just get back to sleep?” Derek finally told him, and Stiles went wide-eyed, reaching out to shove at Derek’s shoulder, however pointless that would be, but Derek intercepted his hand easily, pushed him down onto the pillows and pulled the covers up to his chin with one move. “Sleep, Stiles. We’ll talk more tomorrow.”

Stiles watched him incredulously from under his covers. “What about you? Where are you sleeping?”

“I’ve slept already. Just close your eyes. I’ll be here.”

“You’re gonna watch me sleep?” Stiles muttered, already feeling like he might be able to close his eyes for a while. “I’ve missed the creeping, Derek.” He didn’t hear any response to that and he suddenly felt incredibly sleepy as his eyes closed. 

***

Stiles sat up so suddenly he felt the blood rush from his head. His hands went to his face and he wiped at the cold sweat on his forehead. He scanned his room in the early dawn light,  _ damn _ \- a dream then. Still, dreaming that Derek had come back just to sit by his bed while he fell asleep was a hell of a lot better than the nightmares of his recent nights. He slumped back against the pillows, got up again, turned them over so they were cool against his too warm face, snuggled back down again, closed his eyes. 

The window creaked only a moment later and Stiles shot up again, heart frantic as he watched the jean-clad, booted leg and the body that followed, with a slack jaw. “Derek?” he murmured. 

“Sorry about that,” Derek murmured as Stiles stared at him. “I had to exit in a hurry, your dad came up to check on you. Didn’t think finding me here would help anything.”

“Uh, no.”

“You ok?”

“Uh, no… not… You were here all night?” 

Derek was frowning at him. He took a step further inside, closed the window and picked up a bottle of water that Stiles didn’t remember leaving there by his bedside. Derek put it into Stiles’ hand. “Drink.”

Stiles sat up a little and uncapped it, taking a swig without leaving Derek’s gaze. So everything had happened then - the phone call, the late night visit, just like the old days? Stiles found it hard to believe Derek had come here just on the back of a crazy phone call.

“Did I say thank you?” he said, finally.

Derek gave him a crooked smile. “You don’t have to thank me. I’ve not done anything yet.”

“You listened. And I feel like I slept, which is amazing in itself. So, thanks.”

“Your dad’s gone back to work already.”   


“Yeah,” Stiles said, not surprised, he worked all the time. 

“Will you be able to talk to him later?” Derek persisted.

Stiles rubbed a hand over his face, the beginnings of pure embarrassment forming now as he sat amongst his sweaty sheets in yesterday’s tshirt and boxers, while Derek, of all people stood in his room looking, well, looking just as damn fine as he ever had. 

“Being a furry creature suits you,” he blurted, his forehead crumpling at his own words, and immediately he tried to compensate. “I mean, you look good, it must be a good change for you-”

“Stiles,” Derek said, warning tone in full-force.

“Ok, ok. What was the question?”

“The Sheriff, Stiles. Tell him what you told me. Please?”

Stiles sighed heavily and drank some more water. “Ok,” he said, nodding. He had to admit he did feel lifted, having off-loaded to Derek. Maybe his Dad would understand as well? And if he did how much better would Stiles feel then?

“If you want me to be around when you tell him, or afterwards, just say.”

Stiles frowned. “Why are you being so nice?” he said, and regretted it immediately as Derek drew back, face falling. “You must have plenty of stuff going on, with the wolf and everything…” he added, feeling stupid. 

Derek gave a brief nod. “You’ve been there for me. I can repay the favour, can’t I?”

Stiles allowed a smile. “Sure, I guess. Thank you,” he said again.

“Breakfast?” Derek said, and Stiles’ stomach grumbled at the thought. He hadn’t been eating, not really.

“Sounds good. What you got planned?”

“Pancakes? Get dressed and we’ll go.”

“Out?

“Out.”

Stiles swallowed. He wasn’t suddenly nervous of public places, he was just…

“It’s ok,” Derek assured him, probably smelling the anxiety from over there by the window. 

Stiles sighed. “Ok, well, I’m taking a shower first.”

“A great plan.”

“Charming.”

 

Stiles washed slowly, trying and failing to get the blood off his hands. He tried to keep his thoughts away from what had been constantly swirling since the library. It helped that Derek was here. It really helped, and Stiles didn’t want to examine the feelings he was having. Just concentrate on not thinking about that shit and be glad of the break. He shut off the water and grabbed a towel, expecting to see blood stains on it after he’d dried, but there was nothing. He realised belatedly that he hadn’t taken any clothes in there with him. He wrapped the towel around his hips and went back to his room. 

Derek turned when he opened the door and Stiles watched as his eyes went wide and the strangest expression overtook his features. Stiles walked past him to find underwear.

“I’ll, uh- I’ll be downstairs,” Derek said from behind him, and when Stiles turned around, clothes in hand, his room was empty. 

He found Derek in his kitchen, brewing coffee, making toast and cracking eggs, looking very domesticated and at home in Stiles’ house.

“Thought we were going out?” Stiles asked.

Derek met his eyes, did a brief once over of Stiles’ clothed body and said, “Yeah, I needed to do something. I don’t do waiting easily.”   


Stiles nodded. “Is that right,” he said. “I’d never noticed your lack of patience.” He sat down at the kitchen table and watched as Derek whipped up pancake batter as if this was something they did every morning. Except Derek was glaring at Stiles whenever he met his eyes. Stiles frowned, got up to pour coffee and sipped at it while Derek cooked. When he was done he placed a stack in the centre of the table and passed a plate to Stiles, sitting opposite him and folding his arms over his chest. 

“Uh, are you mad at me?” Stiles asked carefully.

Derek frowned. “Mad? Not at you, no, of course not… mad at your situation maybe. Frustrated that you’ve been trying to deal with this by yourself. Yeah, ok, I might be a little mad at you. Will you eat your damn pancakes?”

Stiles couldn’t help but smirk at that despite the way he was feeling, he’d expect nothing less from Derek Hale - honesty; brutal honesty. Stiles needed to sort himself out, he’d called Derek for a reason, even though partly subconsciously at the time, when he’d been so messed up he couldn’t even see straight. But he was glad, so glad that he had called, that Derek had come here to try to help him. And damn it, he’d made him freaking pancakes.

“These are awesome,” he said through a mouthful.

Derek nodded in acknowledgement. “When will your dad be home?” he asked, still glaring. 

“Seven, maybe?”

“What will you be doing until then?”

Spring break had started two days ago, and the lack of routine hadn’t really helped things. He thought on his feet, not wanting to come across as completely unstable, despite earlier evidence to the contrary. “XBox?” he said, and immediately shoved in another forkful of pancake so he didn’t have to qualify that.

Derek leaned forward, forearms on the table, looking intently at Stiles. “Sounds good. What games d’you have?”


	2. Chapter 2

It hadn’t been in Stiles’ recent thoughts that he’d be spending the day in his room, snacks by his side, controller in hand, resting back against his bed, bumping knees with Derek Hale who sat beside him, whooping in his face every time he beat Stiles at his favourite game.

“Damn it,” Stiles said for the fifteenth time, reaching for his Coke to avoid another in-your-face celebration from Derek.

Because here they were, Stiles and Derek, hanging out. In Stiles’ room. And he was feeling ok, he was kind of enjoying himself which was weird because he hadn’t stopped freaking out over the library thing since it had happened - this was good, actually taking his mind off real life for a few hours. He looked across to Derek and wondered finally what the hell he was doing here. There must be an ulterior motive, surely? Derek Hale was in his house, offering what… his friendship? Shoulder to cry on? Was he after something else? The whomever it was taking the bodies? Was that why he needed Stiles to talk to his Dad so badly because he needed info on the perp?

“You ok?” Derek asked, and Stiles felt his cheeks heat as he realised he’d been staring. 

“Yeah, yeah. You wanna go again?” he asked, gesturing to the TV with his can. 

Derek nodded. “Sure.”

They played again and Stiles tried to stop over-analysing, but since it was in his nature he had little luck with that. He had a message from Scott, one from his Dad, and each one gave Stiles a sharp pain in his stomach because he hated keeping things from those closest to him, but it seemed so far out of reach to try to resolve it all.

“I’m gonna lose him,” Stiles said, putting down his controller after another lost battle. He knew Derek was watching him.

“Who?”

“Scott. When he finds out - it’s all over. I’m gonna lose my best friend.”

“Why would you think that?”

“He’s a protector. He saves people, he doesn’t kill them.”

“Scott is going to understand, just like your dad will.”

Stiles huffed and stood up. “I could barely get through it to tell you, how do you think that conversation is gonna go with my Dad, with Scott?”

“It’ll be harder, sure, because admitting something to someone you actually care about always is.”

Stiles frowned at that but he couldn’t compartmentalise right now and the something that had his emotions jangling would have to wait for later. “So why do I have to do it then?” he said, petulance rolling off him, and Derek sighed and dropped his controller carefully on the bed behind him. 

“Because you’ve been wearing yourself down, Stiles. It’s the only way to start getting some closure.”

“I feel great, I slept - we’ve been chillin’ here. I feel great!” Stiles told him, and he kind of meant it. He did feel better, because of Derek.

“So, imagine how good you’ll feel when you have your dad there for you.”

Stiles considered a moment. “I’ll try,” he said, voice barely there.

“It’s late, I should go,” Derek said and he got up, moved to the window.

“Where are you staying?” Stiles asked, kind of desperate to keep him here, for the company, so that he didn’t spiral again before his Dad got home.

Derek turned around, a brief look of confusion on his face. “The loft.”

“Ah, right.”

“I’ve been coming back to check on it,” he added, almost apologetically. “I should have let you know.”

“No, man, you don’t owe me constant updates.”

“I should have taken the time, might have been able to help sooner. I’ll be back tomorrow, see how it’s going. Ok?”

“Ok,” Stiles said, watching as Derek shoved the window up, stuck his right leg over the sill. And suddenly Derek’s words came back as if he was speaking them again right then.  _ Someone you actually care about.  _ “Hey, Derek, wait.” Derek turned and raised a questioning eyebrow. “I care about you,” Stiles said. 

Derek smiled a little. “I know,” he said softly. And he was gone.

Stiles sat there for a long time, not knowing exactly why he had felt the need to say that to Derek. He didn’t regret it, he did care about him, and it had seemed a great time to let him know. His response was maybe not what Stiles would have imagined, but since he’d never actually thought about telling him, he’d never considered a response either. It was very Derek.

***

Derek was mad again. Stiles knew he didn’t have to take it, they were in his house - he could tell Derek to get the hell out. But he didn’t want to. And maybe he needed to hear this anyway.

“What happened to the Stiles I first met? The one who couldn’t stop jackassing around? Who wouldn’t stand for any shit without a fight.”

“Life happened. I grew up.”

“Stiles, that doesn’t mean you should try to do this on your own. Don’t be the lone wolf. It doesn’t work out, I should know,” he added, and Stiles looked, really looked at him. 

As much as Derek apparently thought Stiles was different, something had changed for Derek too and Stiles was too curious.  “When was the last time you confided in anyone? Huh?”

Derek frowned, turned away and took a step towards the window. Stiles regretted his words, of course he did. It wasn’t his business who Derek trusted. He watched as Derek paced a little, his eyes going to the window, to Stiles’ bed, to his own feet, clearly not able to make a decision as to whether he wanted to stay or not.

“Derek-”

Derek spun around and was in Stiles’ space within a second - Stiles was unhappily reminded of the few times they had been up close and personal in the past, as he was shoved up against his door which shut with a light  _ snick _ , betraying how gently Derek had actually pushed him. He was in Stiles’ face though, a handful of his shirt in one hand, the other in a fist against the door by Stiles’ head. The growl emitting from his throat was deep, rumbling up, and Stiles’ heart went from calm to racing in an instant, cheeks heating and eyes wide as he waited. 

“I don’t need to talk to anyone - I’m a werewolf,” he growled. “You are human and you need to tell your dad and Scott what’s going on.”

Stiles narrowed his eyes and tried to calm his breathing, not easy to achieve with Derek’s hand pressed to his chest. “I tried, ok? I almost told Dad last night, and then again this morning but he started talking about the case and- his  _ face _ . I just couldn’t bare it if that look was directed at me.”

Derek had released his shirt while Stiles was talking but he stayed close. “He won’t look at you that way,” he said, calmer. “It was self-defence, Stiles. You have to believe that.”

Derek backed up and Stiles straightened his shirt. No matter how many times he heard that, it didn’t help. But he said, “Yeah, all right. And, sorry,” he muttered. “I didn’t mean- I know you don’t-”

“When I’ve got something to confide, you’ll be the first to know,” Derek said, took another step backwards. “And, I won’t… do... you know,  _ that- _ ” Derek nodded to the door Stiles was still pressed against and Stiles thought that perhaps he was trying to apologise, but surely not. 

He shook his head and sighed as Derek made a quick exit through the window.

He needed to try again with his Dad, or maybe try Scott this time. And he needed to not think about how good it felt to have Derek so close…

 

He called Scott, asked if they could talk, and although he was obviously reluctant he eventually agreed to meet at the animal clinic. Stiles dressed quickly in dark jeans and a thin black hoodie, struggled with the Jeep for longer than he could handle, and finally pulled up to find Scott at the back of Deaton’s, already getting wet beside his bike.

“Sorry, I had trouble starting the Jeep again, the thing’s barely hanging on.”

Scott just stood there, watching him and when he held up Stiles’ bloodied wrench Stiles’ legs nearly gave out. He was soaked through already, licked the rain droplets from his lips, terrified as he tried to find some words.

But Scott didn’t need to listen to Stiles’ half-hearted defense - he already knew. “You killed him. You killed Donovan.”

Desperate words fell from Stiles’ lips, tears streaming, lost amongst the raindrops on his shivering skin, and he tried to make Scott understand that he wasn’t a monster, but everything he said dragged him down deeper. “Say you believe me,” he cried out over and over.

But Scott wouldn’t and Stiles had never felt this level of fear, not in their worst times - the thought of his best friend not trusting him, not believing him - that look in Scott’s eyes, the pain, like he didn’t even recognise Stiles anymore. This was it - Stiles’ worst fear realised.

When the Jeep came to yet another juddering halt, smoke pouring from the engine, he had no idea where he was or how he’d made it there when he could barely see through his tears or stop his hands from shaking. He climbed out, coughing, slamming the door shut, throwing his tools into the road, raging at the Jeep - he needed the wrench, couldn’t bare to touch it again and he watched as it flew into the windshield. The glass shattered beneath it, cracks appearing all over the surface - he couldn't get his thoughts together, and he sank to the ground by his tyre, head in his hands. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh did I say thank you?? WOW so many lovely kudos and comments since yesterday and I am so grateful - THANK YOU!! 
> 
> Here I am 84 years late to the show, to the fandom, completely obsessed with Dylan and Tyler and no idea how I feel about the show having binged all 6 seasons in about 2 weeks, but STEREK YES.
> 
> STEREK <3<3


	3. Chapter 3

“Stiles.”

He raised his head from his arms where he was resting on his knees, expecting maybe Parrish, his Dad? But blinking through the drizzle and darkness he was suddenly staring at Derek. He didn’t know what to do or say so he sat where he was while Derek collected his tools, stowed them in the Jeep, growled at the windshield, grabbed the keys and locked the Jeep. 

He was crouching beside Stiles now, spoke his name more firmly. Stiles just stared.

“You want me to carry you?”

That got his attention. “No, I’m up, I’m up,” he croaked, easing himself up off the wet tarmac, probably wrecking his shirt on the Jeep as he dragged upwards. Derek waited until he was standing before grabbing his arm and tugging him away, down the street to where he’d parked his black Camaro. It had been a while and in the devastated brain fog Stiles found himself in, he wondered if Derek had stored the car while he’d been away - it looked pristine as ever. He glanced back to the Jeep while Derek held the door open for him. She sat there in the dark, in the rain, abandoned. Just like Stiles. Ruined.

“Come on, you need to get dry. You’re shivering.”

“Oh, yeah,” Stiles said as he put a shaking hand to the door frame. “I’m gonna wreck your seat,” he added. 

“Stiles - get in.” He relented and sat staring at the back of the Jeep as Derek rounded the Camaro and climbed in beside him.

“Where even are we? How will I find her again?”

“I’ll sort it out. First thing tomorrow. I promise.” 

He drove them until Stiles realised they were close to his house. He couldn’t face his Dad right now, the thought made his palms sweat and his back prickle despite the cold. 

Derek was watching him when he looked over. “I can’t go home, not yet,” he said, apologetic.

Derek turned off the road without a second glance at Stiles and soon enough they were on their way to the loft. 

Stiles was still shaking even though Derek had turned the heat up to melting point. He stood by the car, hugging his arms around himself while Derek got his keys. 

“Have you ever heard of a jacket? Something waterproof?” Derek said, almost conversationally, as he led the way to the front of the building. 

“Wasn’t really thinking,” Stiles muttered.

“Want to talk about it?” Derek asked, pulling open the door to his loft.

Stiles followed him in and immediately had no idea what to do with himself in Derek’s home. “Not really, no,” he said.

“Bathroom-” Derek said shortly, pointing to where Stiles knew his bathroom was. “Get in the shower. I’ll find you some clothes.”

Stiles needed to warm up, that was for sure. But showering here? At Derek’s? He had to force himself to move as Derek glared at him. 

There was a pile of soft-looking, fresh towels, Derek’s shower cubicle was huge and Stiles stripped down slowly, letting the water run hot before stepping in, and finally some of the shivers subsided as he stood under the giant water spray. He didn’t think about washing for a while, just let himself warm up, bracing against the wall with one hand, water streaming over his neck and shoulders. Once he thought he could stand steady on his own, he reached for the showergel, and it was nice, kind of spicy, but fresh. It smelled like Derek. Stiles washed himself slowly, avoiding all thoughts of the wrench, of the Jeep, of Scott. The blood was still in the creases on his palms, between his fingers even once he was done. 

A tap on the door jolted him from thoughts of Derek in here, showering by himself, thinking of whatever it might be he thought about in the shower. It sure as hell wasn’t Stiles. Another knock. “Yeah, just a second,” he called out, shutting off the water and standing still for a moment. 

“I’ll leave the clothes out here, you don’t have to rush,” Derek called back.

Stiles nodded to himself, took some deep breaths trying to calm his currently racing heart. At least the blood pumping had him feeling warmer. He stepped out and grabbed a towel, drying himself off quickly and then he opened the door a crack, peaked out to see the neat pile on the floor and reached down to grab it.

He finally walked out of the bathroom, hoping he’d left it as neat as it had been before, clutching his wet clothes and looking around for Derek. 

Derek stood up from the couch and came over to him, hand outstretched and looking at Stiles’ handful. “You want me to dry those?”

Stiles held them tighter shaking his head. “No, no it’s fine. Oh, unless, do you need your clothes back…?”

Derek frowned harder. “No, of course not. How do you feel?” he added, backing up a bit. 

“Bit shaky still, I’ll be ok.”

“I’ll make coffee. Sit down,” Derek instructed, and Stiles gratefully moved to the couch while Derek went to the kitchen. He came out with a paper bag and grabbed Stiles’ wet clothes, packing them away for him. 

Stiles watched Derek take care of him, helpless to resist. What the hell had gone wrong in his life? His friends had lost interest long before the library thing, but now this nightmare with Scott. “He wouldn’t listen,” he said, like they were already halfway through the conversation. 

Derek immediately sat down on the coffee table in front of Stiles. 

“He knew what happened. Theo must have told him and he wasn’t even prepared to hear me out.”

“How the hell does Theo know?”

“He told me he saw me leave that night, went in, saw the body.”

“Want me to talk to him?”

“What? No, no, I don’t think that’d help.”

“It might make me feel better.”

Stiles met his eyes and wondered for a moment. “Why is this so important to you? How… how did you even find me?”

Derek looked down to his feet, wringing his fingers together, seeming embarrassed. Maybe.

“I followed you to Deaton’s,” he said softly.

“Why?”

“I didn’t get close, didn’t hear anything, and when you left you were so fast I nearly lost you.”

Stiles gave him a dubious look at that, but Derek went on. “I hoped Scott would hear you out. But I wanted to be there for you, if he didn’t.”

“Why?” Stiles whispered. He desperately needed to know.

“Stiles,” Derek said, but he stopped, lowered his head. Leaning on his elbows he was really close to the couch, really close to Stiles. Stiles could hear only the ticking of the clock on the wall, along with his own too fast breathing. 

“I came back here for you,” Derek said. “For all of you,” he amended, and suddenly he was up, pacing, leaving Stiles to watch from the couch

He swallowed hard as it all became clear - Derek came back for the pack. They were so disjointed right now they were useless to him. Of course he’d need to help Stiles sort his mess out before he could get on with whatever business he had with Scott and the others. 

Stomach curling with nausea as he tried to get over the loss of what had never been, Stiles stood up too quickly just as Derek turned and began to walk back to the couch. “I feel much better,” he said, and damn his voice for shaking. “I’ll get out of here now. Thanks for the clothes, I’ll get them back to you when I can. I-”

“Stiles, what… you said you didn’t want to go back home yet. You can stay.”

“No, it’s fine, gotta face my Dad... maybe try to call Scott.”

“Oh, well, yeah, maybe that’s a good idea,” Derek agreed, all too readily. 

Stiles closed his eyes for a moment, just letting it sink in that nothing was going on here - Derek cared about the pack, not Stiles specifically. Stiles knew he could trust him, ask for advice, but Derek wasn’t there for anything more.

“Let me grab my keys,” Derek said.

“You don’t have to drive me,” Stiles said, and the horror at the thought of sitting again in Derek’s car after  _ this _ . “I can call my Dad-” Derek’s eyebrows answered that thought. “No, you’re right, that’d be worse.”

“Worse than having me drive you?”

“No, I didn’t mean-”

“Stiles, it’s ok,” Derek said with a sigh. “Let’s just go.”

It was awkward as hell. Especially when Stiles thanked Derek for letting him shower, and when he thought about the big rescue and every moment since then. He spoke calmly enough but he was so jittery by the time Derek pulled up in his street he wasn’t sure he’d make it to the door. He pulled it together, kept his feet, turned to give a brief ‘see you’ nod, and got up to the front door. 

His Dad was home, that was possibly good as Stiles had mixed feelings about wanting to be alone and really needing his Dad right now.

Derek sat for awhile in his street before Stiles heard him drive off from where he stood just inside the front door, frozen to the doormat. He hadn’t wanted to leave Derek, hadn’t wanted to come back home, but circumstances were a bitch and damnit he needed to wash his hands before he spoke to his Dad. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek just can't stay away.

Stiles lay in bed hours later, hungry but not able to eat for fear of throwing up. His Dad had listened to Stiles’ story about Scott being mad at him,  _ story _ being the operative word because as soon as he had sat down at the table, hands folded in his lap because he still couldn’t get the stains off, the look on his Dad’s face made certain that Stiles wasn’t admitting to anything tonight. His Dad looked like he knew something was up, something bad - he had been devastated for Stiles even before he’d started speaking. Stiles couldn’t give him the truth, couldn’t lay all that on him, not when he had so much else to worry about. So he and Scott had fought about Theo and then he’d trashed the Jeep and Derek had been at a loose end and driven him home. 

His Dad was all empathy about the Jeep, all positive about he and Scott and that they would patch it up real soon, he knew they would. He was all quiet surprise and determinedly non-judgemental about the reappearance of Derek in his son’s life. Stiles knew it wasn’t anything his Dad had to worry about, but his Dad had other ideas, a couple of questions about how long he’d been back in town, had Stiles been spending time with him? Was that why he’d been distant? 

“You can talk to me about your relationships, son, you know that, right? It doesn’t matter to me who you want to spend time with - so long as they’re worthy of your affections.”

And  _ oh God _ , that was when Stiles had had to call it a night. His Dad had to go back to the station anyway and the conversation had stopped right there. 

But the whole thing kept rolling through Stiles’ head as he lay down and put a pillow over his head. The only good thing about the embarrassment was that Stiles had, on a very thin surface level, not been thinking about the library, the blood, his best friend, or the Jeep for the past hour.

And then the window was shoved upwards and in the half second it took for Stiles to shove the pillow off, Derek was in his room.

Stiles found words from somewhere. “You- uh- wanted your clothes back after all?” He realised he was still wearing Derek’s shirt along with his own pyjama pants. He probably shouldn’t have drawn attention to that fact. He probably shouldn’t have kept the damn shirt on to sleep in. But how was he to know Derek would be paying him another visit?

“You didn’t get coffee. Earlier,” Derek said, head tilted towards the window. “Wanted to make sure you were ok.”

Stiles raised his eyebrows. “I had a Coke,” he said slowly. “I’m ok.”

“Good. That’s good,” Derek said, starting to pace.

“You wanna sit?” Stiles asked.

Derek gave a quick shake of his head, kept pacing. “I checked on your Jeep on the way over. They’re towing it at 9am. Back here for you.”

Stiles heart was in a panic. “Really?” he said, sitting up and tapping his palm on his raised knees, trying to disperse the adrenaline. “That’s great, amazing actually. Thank you.”

“I told you I would,” Derek said. He sounded mad, still. Just like at his loft. Probably not a good time to bring up Stiles’ futile attempts to make amends with his family and friends, then. Scott hadn’t answered his call and he’d lied to his Dad, again. He wasn’t ready to share that with Derek. 

“I’ll be more careful, fix it up properly.”

“I could help, if you like. Hold your duct tape,” Derek said, and he wasn’t even smiling a little bit.

“Uh- yeah,” Stiles said, clearing his throat. “Yeah, that’d be great.”

Derek nodded and turned his back again as he paced out the floor of Stiles’ room.

Stiles took a chance, his voice shaking hardly at all as he spoke. “Are you mad because you think I’m an idiot? Or because of what I did? Or because I can’t sort anything out by myself..?” Why hadn’t he stopped talking yet?

“What?” Derek said, stopped in front of Stiles and stared him down. Stiles had to look away. “You are an idiot. But whatever else you said is crap. And I’m not mad at you,” he snapped. 

Stiles frowned up at him from under his sheet. “You seem mad.”

“I’m just- checking on you.”

Stiles shook his head. “Look, it’s ok, like I said - you don’t have to be here for me, I’m not this interesting to anyone, I know I’m not.”

Derek growled and Stiles flailed back on his elbows, annoyed with himself for jumping.

“Stiles - stop this,” Derek grunted, eyes flashing blue at him as Stiles stared. 

“Wh- stop what? And what the hell, man? I stopped being terrified of you like three years ago.”

Another frustrated-sounding growl. “I don’t want you to be scared of me - I want you to believe me.”

Frowning, heart thudding as he swallowed hard, Stiles gave a helpless shoulder shrug. “Believe you about what?”

Derek closed his eyes, straightened up, shook himself out. When he met Stiles’ eyes again Derek’s were normal. “Get some sleep. Let me know if you want help with the Jeep.” And he was out the window, leaving Stiles floundering against his sheets. 

Sleep? After the night he’d had? Derek had the strangest way of making sure Stiles was relaxed. He wrestled with his pillow, got up to close the window, poked his head out there, just in case. Got back into bed, wrestled the covers for good measure and finally collapsed on his back and thought about how much he hated everything. 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stiles wakes up in the hospital and panics.

There was cursing, a lot of aggressive wrenching and even more duct tape. The man with the new windshield arrived while Stiles was still under the hood and he took a break while it was fitted. He had no idea when he’d get to pay his Dad back for that. His thoughts kept flitting from the Jeep, to Scott, to Derek, his Dad. There was too much and he just couldn’t focus - even back under the hood, fixing a new piece of hose to the radiator, it kept him occupied for another few minutes but then he took hold of the, now clean, wrench and the desperate fight with Scott was playing out all over again. Scott’s face as Stiles had pleaded with him, the way he had backed away, actually looking fearful of Stiles - he had never seen Scott look that way. His hand slipped, more cursing as he clambered out from under the hood, avoiding the Jeep but hurling the wrench to the concrete at his feet, sucking the side of his hand into his mouth.

“Stiles,” a low voice came from behind him. Stiles turned and the soft look on Derek’s face made him drop his hand. “Thought you were going to call me?”

“Sorry, didn’t want to disturb you, thought I could manage.” Stiles had wanted this - to fix her by himself - accomplish something for himself, by himself. He closed his eyes against the tears of frustration that were too close.

Then Derek’s voice came again, a clap on the shoulder as he walked by. “You’ve done a good job here, looks tidy,” he said, and Stiles opened his eyes to see if he was serious. 

“Have you started her up?”

“Ah, no… not yet.”

“You want me to look at your hand?” Derek asked, as Stiles looked at him in disbelief.

“What? No, no it’s fine, I’m ok,” he muttered, backing up, away from the Jeep and Derek, but Derek followed him, reached out and took Stiles’ hand in his. Stiles tried to pull it back, desperate to get away, terrified suddenly.

Derek looked up at him. “Stiles, calm down, it’s ok, I’m not going to hurt you.”

Stiles held his breath for a moment while Derek pressed lightly at his hand, feeling along the bones. It hurt, maybe he’d broken it - but then Derek’s fingers clasped around it more firmly, sliding up his wrist and Stiles watched as the throbbing pain transferred from his hand through to Derek’s. 

“Doesn’t that hurt you?” he said, voice a bare whisper as Derek let his hand slip away.

“No, it’s nothing, just a tingle.”

Stiles flexed his fingers, the jittery shakiness returning to his breathing as they stood so close, eyes not leaving each others’. He sighed. “I just wanted to do something productive, by myself, feel useful again,” he murmured. “Guess I’m not ready for that yet.”

“It’s ok to get mad, but not if you’re hurting yourself.”

Stiles nodded. “Or anyone else.”

Derek moved his hand and Stiles thought for a moment he was going to take hold of him again, but his fingers curled into a fist and he dropped his hand again. “Why don’t you start her up?” he said quietly.

Stiles nodded slowly and stepped backwards, kicking his tool box, stumbling and eventually getting to the driver’s door. He turned the key and the engine came straight to life. “Ha! Yes!” Through the new windshield Derek was smiling at him.

Stiles came around to the front, dropped the hood, remembered his duct tape and opened it up again to retrieve it. He turned to clear up his tools from the driveway. “Thanks, for getting her back here, for last night.”

Derek nodded. “It’s no problem.”

“I need to get out of here, just go for a drive.”

“Sure,” Derek said. “Take your tools?” he added. 

Stiles gave him a glare, but shoved the box into the Jeep. “I’ll see you,” Stiles said, as Derek backed off towards the kerb and Stiles watched as he headed back to his own car, sped off back in the direction of his loft.

Stiles pulled out onto the road, giving the wheel a gentle tap. “Ok, we can do this,” he told her, and he drove out of town, windows down, a light misty rain covering his new windshield, but he didn’t care. He was just trying to clear his head in whatever way he could.

***

Stiles woke up to his alarm and tried to reach for it to turn it off but his arm was caught up in his sheets. He must have slept funny on it, his wrist felt numb as he tried to move it again. He dragged his eyes open, eyelids straining against the light as a gentle pressure on his shoulders kept him from moving any further. “Melissa?” he croaked as Scott’s Mom came into view above him. “What the - what’s going on?”

“Shh, Stiles, it’s ok. You’re in the hospital but you’re going to be fine.”

“Ohhh God…” Stiles whimpered, resting his head back on the pillows. The bleeps from the heart monitor near his bed were getting more insistent and Stiles knew exactly why as his heart picked up and he felt himself flying into a panic, made all the worse for him being stuck in this bed and not able to get away.

“Stiles, it’s ok,” Melissa’s voice told him again, as he squeezed his eyes shut. 

A hand clutched to his and another voice spoke close to his ear. “Stiles, you’re ok, just take a breath.” 

“Derek,” he whispered, forcing his eyes open and seeing him right there. “What- the- fuck,” he breathed between desperate, panted huffs of air.

“Focus on my voice, just breathe and focus - please.” Stiles nodded and Derek spoke again, slow and deliberate: “One… two… three…”

“Derek, I don’t think this is working - his heart’s still racing, I need to give him this.”

Stiles squeezed Derek’s hand - it was working, he didn’t want any meds - he made himself think of nothing but Derek’s voice beside him, held tight to his hand, listening to the gentle, slow counting, concentrated on dragging air into his lungs. And gradually he was starting to breathe, could pull in just enough air to his chest to feel the ache subside a little - he could hear the monitor slowing and opened his eyes again as Derek’s steady counting came to a halt.

“Shit,” he said, and as he met Derek’s eyes Derek pulled his hand gently from Stiles’ grasp. Stiles looked down at his hand, at the cast on his arm, at the bed, back to Derek who was staring at him like he was about to panic himself.

“You’re ok,” Derek said softly and maybe he was telling himself that because it didn’t sound like a question.

Stiles nodded anyway. He had no idea what the fuck was going on or why he was in this room with Derek but suddenly the door was opening and the room was filling up with people. 

“Stiles - thank God, you’re awake.” His Dad rushed to his side, sat in the suddenly vacated chair where Derek had been just a second ago, and clasped Stiles’ hand.

“Hey, Dad, yeah I’m up.”

“I only left the room for a couple of minutes, might’ve known you’d wake up while I was out. How’s he doing Melissa?” he asked, as he put a gentle hand on Stiles’ forehead.

He heard their conversation from far off as he smiled and tried to listen to the greetings as Scott and Lydia crowded around his bed. He had forehead kisses, shoulder squeezes, no questions thankfully, but after a minute Melissa’s voice cut through the gentle babble.

“Ok, time for a break, let’s give Stiles a little space here, ok?”

Scott had definitely been there but Stiles was too drowsy to process the look in his eyes. He must still care? To have come to visit him in hospital, even after what had passed between them so recently.

Stiles could remember what had happened between him and Scott, could remember enough that it didn’t seem strange for Derek to be there, knew he had an unresolved talk with his Dad on his mind, but he couldn’t remember anything beyond driving out of town, tapping the wheel along to a Little Mix track on the radio, trying to get up enough enthusiasm to sing along. But then it went all black in his memory. Had he spun? Had he hit something? He shook his head, trying to reach inside and get to the missing stuff - he hated missing memories.

“Stiles,” his Dad said softly from beside him.

Stiles opened his eyes and frowned, kind of pleadingly at his Dad. “I can’t remember what happened - was it me? Did anyone get hurt? Was it my fault?” his voice cracked, the sound lacking anything about his personality that he could remember. 

“No, son, no it wasn’t your fault - there was a truck lost control, came off the ramp and caught you side on. You hit the barrier.”

Stiles gaped, wide-eyed at him, finally looking down at himself to check that he had all his limbs, methodically wiggling each toe, flexing each calf muscle and checked both hands were still attached. “How did I get out of that?”

“You were incredibly lucky. You broke a wrist, cracked your ribs and Melissa’s fairly sure you have a concussion. You need to rest. Sleep now, ok? I’ll be here. Or Derek will be here. He’s barely left your side.”

“How long have I been here?” Stiles asked, in a futile attempt to cover the rising bleeps from beside him as he let the Derek statement sink in.

“Two days.”

“I was unconscious for two days?”

“You woke up yesterday, but only for a minute or so and you weren’t exactly coherent.”

“I had a panic attack, Dad, earlier, before you came in.”

His Dad frowned. “Stiles, I’m sorry. I guess it’s kind of to be expected though, waking up in here? You’re going to need to heal, to rest after what you’ve been through.”

Stiles nodded sleepily. “I don’t want it to happen when I wake up again.”

“I’ll be here. It’s ok.”

Stiles closed his eyes, drifted off with his Dad’s warm, comforting hand stroking his hair just like he had when Stiles was a kid.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That time when Scott takes Stiles' pain when he lashes out at the Jeep engine, I love that so much. I just wish it had been Derek. So that's why I had him do it here.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles and Scott have another talk.

Stiles woke up to his alarm again but this time he opened his eyes first and realised more quickly that he wasn’t at home, lolled his head to see Derek across the room, his Dad right beside him, smiling as he came to. “Hey kid, how’re you doing?”

“Dad, don’t you have to work? What day is it?”

His Dad chuckled softly. “It’s Wednesday. And no I don’t have work until I know my son is ok. How do you feel?”

“Oh, yeah,” Stiles said, trying to resettle himself, maybe sit up a little. “I feel good.” Although as Derek moved to the door and left them alone, Stiles suddenly felt a little less ok.

“Well, no overexertion,” his Dad said, moving to raise his bed up and hand him the remote.

He talked a little about the weather, what he’d had for dinner last night, apparently Stiles’ hospital food wasn’t going to waste while he was unconscious. He didn’t mention the accident, almost started to give away something on the case before he stopped himself and Stiles smiled at him. “I probably wouldn’t remember anything that you told me anyway,” Stiles admitted.

Eventually his Dad shifted in his chair and plumped Stiles’ pillow unnecessarily under his head. “I’m going to go check in at the Station. I’ve asked Derek to stay here with you, make sure you don’t do anything stupid like try to get out of bed, all right?”

He opened the door and peered out and in a second Derek was at the foot of his bed while his Dad pulled on his jacket, and Stiles lay there, looking up at Derek with no little amount of confusion.

“I’ll watch out for him, Sir,” Derek said, and Stiles felt goosebumps over his skin at how good it was to hear Derek’s voice.

His Dad kissed his forehead and went to the door. “I’ll be back at lunch. Sleep. I love you.”

Stiles waved him off with a murmured, “Love you too,” and turned to Derek when the door closed. “At least I didn’t freak out that time,” he said, as Derek rounded the bed and sat beside him.

“That’s a definite improvement in your situation, yes,” Derek said.

“I’m glad you were here when that happened. You were great, really great.”

Derek nodded. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Derek?” Stiles asked quietly after a moment. “How bad is the Jeep?”

Derek looked away and Stiles let his head fall back on the pillow with a groan.

“Stiles, that Jeep is as resilient as you are. It’s not totalled. It’s a mess, but we can fix her up. But only once you’re out of here, and  _ only _ if you promise not to do this again.”

The monitors were going crazy but Stiles knew his heart was racing with excitement and happiness this time. He didn’t know exactly what had gone on on that road but somehow he and his Jeep had survived it. He nodded. “Yeah, yeah I promise.”

Derek shook his head, eyes lowered to study his hands in his lap. “Fuck, Stiles, when I saw you there-”

Stiles frowned when Derek paused, he seemed choked up but he couldn’t possibly be - not Derek.

“I thought I’d lost you,” Derek gritted out. “There were so many others crowding around you and I couldn't focus on your heartbeat at first...”

Stiles’ hand moved before his head caught up to what he was doing, and Derek’s forearm was right there on the bed so Stiles laid his hand on top, and Derek looked to it as if he’d been physically shocked. Then he met Stiles’ eyes and it was as if he didn’t recognise Stiles for a second.

“I’m ok,” Stiles said simply. “But you know what? I’m human - and humans get into accidents sometimes.” 

Derek’s eyes flashed blue and Stiles squeezed his arm, fingers reacting a little slower than usual. Derek closed his eyes for a moment, visibly calming himself and when he opened them again the blue had gone. 

Stiles could blame anything he said right now on drugs, so he blinked once before asking, “What’s going on with you?”

Derek sighed and flexed his arm under Stiles’ fingers. “It was bad enough when you were struggling before, with your anxiety, with the- the thing. But now you’re hurt-” Derek said the word like a curse and Stiles stroked his arm until he looked at him again.

“I’m ok, I feel great, whatever’s in that it is good stuff,” he said, eyeing the drip bag beside him.

“I want to protect you,” Derek said, almost in a whisper, but Stiles didn’t get a chance to respond as a light tap on the door was followed by Scott coming into the room and Derek was standing by the window before Stiles could even grasp at the air where his arm had been.

“Hey, how are you doing?” Scott said softly, looking between him and Derek before sitting beside Stiles’ bed. Something in Stiles’ foggy brain realised that Scott must have been able to hear their conversation from just outside the door, but he didn’t know what to do about that so he pretended there was nothing unusual about his situation at all.

“Better, y’know, yeah.” They hadn’t spoken properly since the argument at the clinic, Scott hadn't picked up Stiles’ calls before the accident. 

Derek was pulling on his jacket in the far too quiet room. “Make sure he rests,” he told Scott, voice hard, hand on the door.

“‘Course,” Scott answered and Derek was gone. 

Stiles watched Scott carefully, missing Derek already, but wanting his best friend back desperately and not sure anything would have changed between them, accident or no accident - Scott still thought he had murdered someone.

“Stiles… I- I don’t know what to say, man. When Derek called all I could think about was getting to you as fast as possible. I- I’m so sorry that we fought, that I didn’t answer your calls… I’m so sorry.”

Stiles was watching him, really not sure whether he was going to cry or not. “There was a pin,” he said from out of nowhere. “One little metal pin attached to the scaffolding. I was only thinking about getting away, I swear, but I pulled it and everything started to fall and - and when I looked down he was…” He closed his eyes, willing the images to fade but there was no chance. “He was impaled,” he said, opening his eyes and looking for Scott’s reaction.

“So… you didn’t… with the wrench?”

“No- fuck no - I got in a hit when he came at me by the Jeep - but after that…” He shook his head.

“Self-defence,” Scott finished for him. He reached for Stiles’ shoulder and grasped it gently. “I’m so sorry I didn’t listen to you, that I didn’t believe you.”

“It’s ok,” Stiles said, some of the tension draining away.

“It’s not ok,” Scott said. “The last words we might have had were in anger - I don’t ever want to do that again.”

Stiles pressed his lips together, reaching up to grab Scott’s hand and cling onto it. “Neither do I, dude.”

“I believe you,” Scott said, and then he stood up, leaned on the bed, not pressing into Stiles but he brought him into a hug. “I believe you, I’m so sorry.”

They stayed that way until Stiles started to drift and Scott apparently realised because he carefully extricated himself and patted Stiles’ head gently, whispered that he’d be back and then Stiles felt his eyes close, knew Scott had gone. But for the first time in a long time, he didn’t feel alone.


	7. Chapter 7

Stiles’ eyes opened and Melissa was checking his chart. “Hey,” he croaked. “What time is it?”

Melissa came to his side and handed him a water cup with a straw, helped him to sit and sip. “Five-thirty. You’re doing great, Stiles, sleep is just what you need to get better.”

“Has anyone been in? Did I miss my Dad?”

“He’ll be back at lunch, he sat with you for a couple of hours late last night, but I told him to go home to sleep. I had to tell Scott the same. But Derek, he won’t be told,” she added, hand on her hip, glaring to the corner of the room. The dark figure sitting there got up and moved towards the bed. Melissa checked Stiles’ drip and left the room with a smile.

Derek looked down at him. “I thought you were going for the full twelve hours there.”

“That long? I do feel well-rested.”

“Good.”

“Scott and me - we made peace,” Stiles told him.

Derek nodded. “He told me.”

“It helped, a lot. Knowing he believes me.”

“Yeah, I knew it would. You’re a pair of idiots but I’m glad you’ve made it up.”

“Now there’s my Dad,” Stiles began, heart racing suddenly at the thought.

“It’s ok,” Derek said, hands on the bed beside Stiles’ leg. “You’ve got time.”

“Yeah, he’s at work. How long have you been here?”

“I don’t know,” Derek said, looking away.

“Really?” Stiles said dubiously. He wanted to reach for Derek’s hand, so badly. But he couldn’t do it. “Will you sit with me?” he asked instead. “Just for a bit.”

Derek sat down, their hands touched a little as he rested an arm on the bed. “As long as you need,” he said.

They were silent for a while until Stiles couldn’t stand it anymore. “So, you got to me, on the road, before Scott? He said you called him.”

“Ah, yeah,” Derek murmured.

“How did you find me?” Stiles asked, not sure what Derek would admit to but he’d seen him drive off in the opposite direction. Stiles was the one with a police scanner, so unless his Dad had called him, which was unlikely-

“I followed you,” Derek said softly.

“Why?” Stiles whispered, his hand itching now to grab Derek’s hand so that he couldn’t pull away. 

“I shouldn’t have, I don’t know why I turned around, but when I got to you I was too late - I couldn't keep you safe.”

“You wanted to make sure I was ok?” Stiles said carefully, trying to understand and not read into Derek’s words anything that wasn’t real.

“Yeah… in the Jeep.”

“You couldn’t have stopped someone smashing into me.”

“I know. I wasn’t exactly expecting that.”

“Huh, same here, dude.”

“I pulled you out just before the EMTs got there.”

“Thank you, for being there. For being here now.” Derek just looked at him. “I was thinking about the library. When I was driving. I tried not to, I wanted to clear my head but… I couldn't get his face out of my mind again, and that’s all I remember. I shouldn't have risked it.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” Derek told him, but Stiles just shook his head. 

They sat that way, exchanging barely-there brushes of their fingers against each other, until Stiles’ head flopped back against the pillows.

After so many nights of nightmares or not sleeping at all the drugs were doing a number on him now. When he opened his eyes again his Dad sat beside him. “Hey, Dad,” he croaked, feeling a sense of déjà vu now on top of everything else. His friends and family must be doing shifts with him still in here. “How long was I out that time? What day is it?” 

His Dad chuckled. “It’s still Friday, Stiles. I just got here from the Station. Sorry if I woke you.”

“No, no it’s ok,” Stiles said, trying to shift himself to a different position but being basically flat on his back didn’t leave a lot of options so he just raised the bed up a bit.

“Melissa says we can get you out of here if the next set of tests come back ok.”

“Great, I’d rather be passing out in my own bed at least.”

Then they both spoke at once but Stiles went ahead before his Dad could because he had to do this. “I need to talk to you.”

“About Derek?”

“What…?” Stiles blurted, completely thrown off. “No, no- I mean, why?”

“He’s barely left your side, son. Hasn’t left the hospital for more than an hour, he pulled you out of the wreck, and you were spending time together before that - you seemed to be getting a little more chilled.”

Stiles wondered just how bad he had been, just how jittery he’d been acting the last couple of weeks if his Dad thought he’d been actually improving just before the accident - he’d still felt like a shitty son, a shitty friend the whole time. Apart from when he was with Derek. But he had to focus here.

“Anyway Dad, no not Derek. A while back…” he sighed, forcing out the words. “I was at the library late, the Jeep wouldn’t start and it was dark and I didn’t see him coming…”

“Stiles, it’s ok.” His Dad put a hand on his shoulder as the damn heart monitor went nuts, bracing him gently, keeping eye contact and taking his hand, while Stiles breathed through the encroaching panic. When he could start talking again it all came out in a rush and Stiles’ eyes were streaming, but he was crying more because of his Dad’s stoic, almost proud reaction when he’d finished speaking.

“I could say any number of things to you,” his Dad said quietly, “but I know you’ve been through the scenario a hundred times already. And I know that you know it was self-defence. You’ve just got to believe it.”

Stiles pressed his free hand into his eyes one after the other, not wanting to let his Dad go - it had been so long since he’d trusted himself to open up with him, and his Dad deserved better. When he could see clearly he waved his Dad in until they were embracing and Stiles could hide in his shoulder like he did when he was eight. 

In between his own muffled apologies he could hear his Dad’s heartfelt pleas for Stiles to share  _ every _ thing. “Don’t keep it bottled up again, Stiles, y’hear?”

“Yeah, Dad, ok, I promise.”

“And I promise to do the same, and to be more approachable,” he added, pulling back a bit and cupping a hand to Stiles’ cheek. “Is this a good time to tell you about my date next week..?”

Stiles shook his head and his Dad gave him a soft smile. 

“I just, I can’t stop thinking about it.” He looked at his hands, still saw the kid’s blood on them. He clenched his fists and his Dad covered his hands with his own. 

“It’ll get easier - talking about it was the first step. I knew you weren’t sleeping, you were so withdrawn I just had no idea what was going on. Then, when Derek showed up, I- well, to be honest I thought maybe you’d been pining for him the whole time.”

Stiles gaped at him. “Oh my God - Dad!” And for the first time in so long he felt something other than fear, remorse, or just blatant confusion when it came to Derek. His Dad thought he’d been  _ pining _ ? Oh  _ God. _

“So, I was wrong?” his Dad asked, softly. “You two are just… friends?”

Stiles frowned, scratching his head. “I really have no idea,” he admitted.

“It sounds like you need to have this conversation with Derek.”

Stiles gave him a half smile, “Yeah, I guess so.”


	8. Chapter 8

And then it was three days later and Stiles hadn’t seen nor heard from Derek since he’d passed out with his hand touching Derek’s in the hospital. 

He was still sleeping a ton but trying to get back to a normal routine of mealtimes and bedtimes. His Dad was doing a great job of healthy home-cooked (store-bought) meals for them and he was working as few shifts as he could so he could be home a good part of the day. Scott was staying over as often as possible and Lydia was in and out whenever she could be. Stiles wasn’t on his own, he knew that now. But he was inexplicably lonely. 

Despite the revelations he had made, and he and Scott had been over it all again, and his Dad had subtly obtained every detail but made sure that Stiles knew the information would live and die with him, Stiles still couldn’t find peace. 

He was having fewer nightmares but he was dreaming of haunted eyes, a warm body nearby, and the touch of a hand that he missed so much he ached for it everytime he lay down in his bed at night. He should have said more when Derek was there, should have said something. And now he was gone again. Stiles had sent him a string of texts, telling him he was home, thanking him again, telling him his Dad had understood, just like Derek had said he would.

That he missed him.

That one had gone unsent. It was still on the screen if he opened up the message thread, but he didn’t send it. Didn’t want to put it out there, leave it hanging and never get a reply. That would be worse. When Derek had left after the whole wolf thing, the ‘evolution’, there had been nothing, no contact with any of the pack for months. Stiles was finding it hard to deal with the thought that the same thing was happening now. The not knowing was the worst, especially after they’d shared something… they definitely had, he wouldn’t have been so sure what with the accident, the black out, the drugs - if it wasn’t for his Dad seeing it too. But Stiles had no idea what Derek felt, still inclined to think he just wanted the pack to sort out their differences and that was it. 

And yet, he knew Derek, didn’t he? He wasn’t the type to lead someone on. Not that being protective was a lead on, and it was Stiles who had stroked Derek’s hand that day as he was falling asleep.The more he dwelt on it, the more he was certain - Derek was gone for good.

***

Another week past and Stiles had got some of his appetite back, most of his strength. He saw only clean skin when he looked down at his hands now and thought that he was kind of improving on that side of things too. Scott came by everyday but once Stiles wasn’t sleeping all the time and they could rely on him to wake up and feed himself, his Dad was happy to give him some space.    


Stiles woke up to birdsong so he knew it was morning - a great change from nighttime wakings and hours of getting through the darkness on his own. He got up and showered, saw a text from Scott about meeting at his place after breakfast. He ate some cereal, grabbed his red hoodie and pulled the front door open. 

“What the-?” he said, staring at Derek on his doorstep. Black jacket, open over a grey shirt, jeans stretched tight over his thighs, immaculately groomed as always. He was clutching a grocery bag in each hand and he looked almost as surprised to see Stiles standing there as Stiles was to see him.

“What the hell?” Stiles said again.

“Your Dad said you were out of groceries.”

“Huh? You spoke to my Dad?”

“Yeah, wanted to see how you were.”

“You didn’t get my texts? I told you how I was-” He pulled out his phone, feeling his anger rise, and opened his text screen for Derek, thrusting it into his face. “You’d have known how I was if you’d read them!”

Derek’s eyes scanned over the screen and he looked back at Stiles as he slowly lowered the phone.

“I didn’t get that last one,” Derek murmured.

Stiles turned the phone around and felt a flush creep over his cheeks as he sighed and hit send with a frustrated finger. There was a musical flourish from somewhere on Derek’s person. 

“Sounds like you’ve got it now,” Stiles said.

Derek nodded.

“What’s in the bags?” Stiles asked, trying to see what Derek had brought.

Derek raised his eyebrows, lifting one of the bags up. “Take a look.”

Stiles frowned and stepped back from the doorway. “You, uh, you wanna come in?” he asked carefully, still entirely suspicious as to what Derek was doing there. 

He walked along the hallway, hoping Derek would follow him, dropped his hoodie on a kitchen chair and turned to find Derek right there, putting down his bags on the table.

“You were on your way out.” 

“Yeah, but Scott can wait, it’s ok.”

“You look really good,” Derek said, and then added, “you healed up quickly. I mean, I can still tell where the bruises are, and there’s your cast, but…” He looked down, sighing, seeming completely lost now.

Stiles wrapped his arms around himself, shifting his weight between his feet, until Derek looked at him again and said, “I missed you too, Stiles.”

Stiles gaped at him before realising he should probably say something. “You didn’t even text back,” he managed.

“I didn’t know what to say. I kept writing out a reply and everything sounded stupid.” He pulled out his phone and after a few swipes of the screen he handed it to Stiles. Stiles had to step closer to take it.

There were his messages, and in the whitespace at the bottom of the screen was where Derek had started a reply.

_ I want I need Can I see you _

Stiles felt warm all over, couldn’t take his eyes from the jumbled text as he stammered out, “Yeah, that… I- I think you should have sent that.” He looked up and Derek was so close, chest heaving in a way Stiles had never associated with the guy. 

Derek reached for his phone, got hold of Stiles’ wrist instead, pulled it towards him, dropping the phone on the table, and then both hands were around Stiles’ waist, tugging gently until their chests bumped together.  

Stiles flailed forward, his uncasted hand coming to rest on Derek’s bicep and he curled his fingers around the muscle, completely thrown now because  _ holy fuck _ he was touching Derek Hale. Derek Hale had his hands on Stiles’ body and it wasn’t because he was shoving him out of harm’s reach or shoving him up against a hard surface, threatening him - he looked like he was going to kiss him and,  _ fuck _ “Mmm,” Stiles let out embarrassingly, as his lip was pulled between Derek’s lips and Derek’s tongue pushed demandingly into his mouth. Before Stiles could even get used to the idea, Derek pulled back. They stared at each other, wide-eyed, Stiles still clutching Derek’s arm and Derek squeezing his hand like he couldn’t let go. 

Finally, Derek spoke. “Uh, was that ok? To do that?” His voice was rough, totally unsure and Stiles nodded instantly.

“Fuck, yeah that was ok,” he said in a rush, and he grabbed the back of Derek’s neck and lunged in for more, pressing into Derek as their lips met again, Stiles somehow managing to take the lead and shoving his tongue into Derek’s mouth, getting the angle a little wrong and gently clashing teeth and fuck did that feel good. Derek’s hands were back around Stiles’ waist, pulling them together. 

They kept kissing until Stiles’ rational thoughts came back and he slipped away from Derek’s lips to look into his face, his hand moving to rest on Derek’s shoulder, Derek’s hands shifting down onto his hips.

“So, you really did miss me?” Stiles asked, the words mostly just harsh breaths. Derek nodded. “Oh my God,” Stiles gasped out. “If I’d known this was on the cards I’d have sent you a way more explicit text.”

“I’m sorry,” Derek said softly. “I thought you wouldn’t need me, with everything ok between you and your Dad, and Scott.”

“You’re an idiot,” Stiles told him. “A big, wolfy, hottest-thing-I’ve-ever-seen, idiot.”

Derek kissed him again, probably to shut him up but Stiles didn’t care, not at all.

He broke the kiss again a few minutes later when he realised something else. “Hey, wait a minute-” he gasped, holding Derek at arm’s length. “I don’t want you for your protection, you know?” Derek frowned at him. “I mean, I totally appreciate it, don’t get me wrong, but this… this is more than that, right..?

“Yes, it’s a lot more than that, Stiles.” 

Stiles raised an eyebrow at him. “Well, all right then,” he said, and pulled him into a another kiss. 

The next thing to stop them was a loud clearing of a throat from the doorway.

Stiles’ and Derek’s heads turned that way at the same second, lips sliding apart, still holding onto each other in far too intimate places to be comfortable that they were now standing in the same room as Stiles’ Dad.  

“Boys,” the Sheriff said, as they moved apart and stood a foot away from each other. 

“Hey, Dad, I thought you had work?” Stiles said, wiping his mouth with his cast and frowning down at it in annoyance.

“I can see that you did.”

Stiles noticed the table and the groceries and he raised an eyebrow his Dad’s way. “Derek brought food,” he said, as his Dad walked to the sink and poured a glass of water. 

“Thanks, Derek,” he said.

“No problem, Sir.”

“So, you two have plans?”

Stiles and Derek looked at each other before Derek said, “I was going to ask Stiles out for lunch.”

“You were?” Stiles said, head whipping back to look at him.

“How about lunch here and you take my son out for dinner instead?”

“Uh, yeah Dad, sounds good,” Stiles said, as Derek smiled at him. “You should get cleaned up and we’ll make food.”

His Dad gave him a cautionary look but he nodded and left them to it. 

Stiles put his hands to his face and silently mouthed,  _ Oh my God _ as Derek clapped him on the shoulder. 

“Well, that’s one less awkward conversation to have later on,” Derek said.

Stiles glared at him. “Oh my God!” he said aloud. “He caught us making out! In my kitchen!” he hissed. “How are you this calm?”

“He took it well, considering.”

Stiles had to agree actually, but he felt sure there was an incredibly awkward conversation waiting for him next time he and his Dad were alone.  He picked up one of the paper sacks and shoved it into Derek’s arms. “Help me make lunch before we can get into any more trouble.”

Derek nodded but his grin and lingering kiss as he took the bag told Stiles he liked the sound of whatever trouble he had in mind. Stiles could hardly wait to get started on that, once they’d sat through the most awkward lunch in the history of ever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for reading and comments, I so appreciate it because I'm always so nervous about posting new fic, especially in a new fandom. And I've lived and breathed this fic for weeks so it feels good to have it out there finally. 
> 
> Now back to reading! <3


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